


The Wedding of Thor

by maximumsuckage



Series: Dreamscape [4]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Female Gabriel (Supernatural), Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, Mythology - Freeform, References to Norse Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 05:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13606251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumsuckage/pseuds/maximumsuckage
Summary: Mjolnir has been stolen (again) and Loki has a plan to get it back.  Thor is starting to suspect that Loki is not actually a frost giant.Dreamscape Universe; standalone





	The Wedding of Thor

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been wild busy with this semester, but here's a little mythology flashback so nobody thinks I've abandoned Dreamscape. Takes place while Gabe is in Asgard playing pagan god.

The bedroom door slammed open, the doorknob cracking dangerously against the wall.  A delicate shower of plaster rained down to join the dust already on the floor, leftover from past abuse towards the victimized door.

It was the god of thunder himself who stood on the threshold.  His wrath was terrible as a hurricane to behold.  Ire glinted bright as stars in his eyes, and his face was twisted into a grimace as fierce as the harsh winters of Jotunheim.  When he spoke, it was in a growl that swelled deep in his chest, rivaling the wolf Fenrir himself in depth and ferocity.  “Loki,” the god snarled, “Where. Is. My. Hammer?”

Loki sprawled languidly on the bed, wearing the image of a Roman slave girl.  Dark hair gleamed as it fell over naked breasts.  “Milord?  You assume that I, Loki Laufeyson, your most trusted second in command, would accost you and steal your hammer?”  She gave him an alluringly crooked smile, one that would make most men quiver with desire. 

Thor, the most stoic of men, only had a half formed unclean thought.  “I know you have something to do with it, you ungrateful bastard.  You always do.  And why the hell are you a woman?  You seemed perfectly happy being a man yesterday.”

Loki stretched out, supple as a cat.  “Do you like it?”

The trickster had far too many curves, in Thor’s opinion.  It was distracting, trying to decide if her bosom or her ass was nicer.  A bit too distracting, which meant that Loki was trying to cover something up.  And, granted, turning up in the image of a beautiful girl on Thor’s bed was a very good tactic for distracting him, but Thor needed his hammer.  “I hate it.  Where’s Mjolnir?  I know you took it.”

The laughter that bubbled from Loki’s mouth was as lovely as a crisp mountain spring.  “Me?  Take your hammer?  I can’t even lift it.  You know that, silly.  Now come over here and help me break in the new body.”

Thor’s only answer was a warning growl, deep in his massive chest.  One of Loki’s eyebrows quirked up, and he knew that she knew that he was serious.  The corner of her mouth twitched, and then she sighed and sat up, cross-legged, hugging a pillow in a way that was both endearing and strategically placed.  Not that Thor was looking.

“Okay.”  She leaned back and played with the threading at the edge of the pillow.  “I wasn’t involved in the actual theft of it, but I know where it is.  There’s just a teensy little conundrum.  But don’t worry, big guy, I’ve got a plan for that too.”  She winked. 

The creaking of tendons in Thor’s curled fists was almost audible.  A little flicker of static lightning ran down his arms.

Loki held up her hands.  “Calm down there, sparky.  I’ve got a plan.  Get this.”  She leapt up, dropping the pillow, and threw her arms out like she was showing him a great vision.  “You’re going to get married!”

A thunderclap shook the room.  “What.”

“Calm down,” Loki repeated, hopping off the bed.  She grinned up at Thor as she walked over to the wardrobe of Thor’s wife and started to paw through Lady Sif’s clothes.  “It’s all part of my master plan.”

Thor pinched the bridge of his nose, and sat down on the bed.  The mattress creaked under the weight of his muscles.  “Loki, your plans never-”

“Thrym the giant stole your hammer,” Loki said, holding up a loose silk shift.  Deeming it suitable, she pulled it over her head, then started searching for a matching corset.  The fabric rippled over her body, tight in some places and loose in others.  “So I did some aggressive negotiations, and we came to the agreement that he’ll return the hammer in exchange for Freya’s hand in marriage.”

“Loki-”

“No no no.”  Loki held up a hand to stop him.  “This is my plan, see?  Help me lace this up.”  She had to loosen the laces of the whalebone corset to even get it around her body- Sif was much slimmer than Loki’s vessel.  Now she stood with her back to Thor, and he sighed and started to tighten the laces for her, tugging as Loki held onto the bedpost to keep from stumbling backwards.

“Tighter.  I wanna show off my pretty new waist.  Anyways, we’re not  _ actually _ going to trade Freya for the hammer-  _ oof _ , I want my waist to be tight, not my lungs-”

“It’s a corset, Loki.”  Thor rolled his eyes.  “And there are other things to wear-”

“You wouldn’t know, because you’ve never been a girl, but it actually hurts to do anything physical if you don’t have any support.”  Loki rolled her eyes, but held her breath as Thor tied off the laces. 

“Maybe if you’d stop choosing women who are so well endowed to possess, you wouldn’t need to jump through so many hoops to hold yourself in place,” Thor commented, stepping back as Loki started pawing through the closet again, this time for an overdress.

“You always seem to like it.  Anyways, that’s where you come in.  You’re going to disguise yourself as Freya to sneak into Thrym’s stronghold.”  She picked out a dress, made of a thicker fabric than the shift she was wearing, and started to wriggle into it.  Even with the corset narrowing her middle, it was tricky getting it over her wider hips and chest.  “I’ll be your handmaid, so you don’t even have to talk.  We’ll just dress you up all pretty, and- fucker.”  She tried to wriggle her arm through the arm hole, but all she’d managed to do was tangle herself.

Though she was only half dressed, this wasn’t even an enjoyable show.  Loki had only managed to tangle herself up in the fabric, and she was cursing now, trying to abort the mission, and every wiggle of her body was awkward and constricted rather than sexy.  Thor resisted the urge to point out that Freya was closer in size to the frost giant’s new body, and thus a better candidate to steal clothes from.  He had a feeling that Loki had chosen to wear Thor’s wife’s clothing on purpose.

And then Loki seemed to remember that she was a god and not a mortal, and she snapped her fingers.  The dress was suddenly tailored to fit her perfectly, and she took a breath, deep as she could with the corset hugging her torso.  “So, anyways,” she said, admiring the green against the olive of her skin in the mirror, “We bring you in for the wedding.  Get you close to Thrym.  You steal the hammer, and then boom goes the thunder.”

Thor held up a hand.  “Just a moment.  Your plan involves  _ me _ being the  _ bride _ ?”

Loki nodded at him, eyebrows quirked up.  “Don’t worry.  I already picked out the dress.  You’re going to look  _ gorgeous _ .” 

Thor’s jaw tightened.  Static crackled up and down his fingers. 

Loki grinned and skipped across the room, the skirt of Sif’s dress trailing behind her.  She threw open the doors to Thor’s wardrobe so hard that they slammed into the wall behind it.  “ _ Ravishing _ ,” she said, taking up an armful of the white fabric that spilled out.  “Get over here.  Your wedding is today, actually.”

“I am not wearing that,” Thor said, crossing his arms.  Veins stood out across the muscles.  “Never in all the Nine Realms would I be caught dead in that monstrosity.”

“Not even for your hammer?”  Loki pouted, hugging the poofy fabric.  “C’mon, Thor.  Mjolnir needs you.  And you’re not actually marrying the guy.  It’s just so we can get in close.  Besides, I’ll be your dainty little handmaid, so I’m in charge of the talking.”  She smiled, tilting her head over.  “Nobody will see you but me and a bunch of giants who’ll be dead when this is over.”

Under his red beard, Thor’s jaw was still clenched, but truly, he couldn’t think of a better plan.  His plan involved simply charging into the giant’s stronghold, but Loki’s plan was far more cunning, allowing them to be welcomed in without a fight. 

And of course, Loki knew as soon as she’d won.  Her face lit up, and she dropped the skirt and darted over to him, reaching up to start undoing the tie of his cloak.  “Imagine, when you get Mjolnir back, this will all just be a funny story.” 

“I’m going to kill you, Loki,” Thor said, dead serious as his cloak dropped to the floor. 

Loki grinned up at him, gold eyes glittering in the stolen face of the Roman girl.  “Oh, I do hope you do.” 

_ Several hours later _

Thrym the giant was not only ugly, but he smelled like a Viking outhouse after a feast.  Loki was fighting to keep the pleasant smile on her face.  To anyone else, she looked like the most demure, pleasant handmaiden, her lips curved upwards and her eyes downcast as she introduced Thor as Freya, the bride to be.  But through this veil (this stupid veil, fine as gossamer that obscured his vision and hid his face from the world) he could see the slight tension in Loki’s shoulders, that odd way she held them when she was tense. 

That had been what first tipped Thor off that Loki was no frost giant.  Thor was a warrior- his ability to read a body kept him alive in battle.  The way Loki moved was reminiscent of sparring with a Valkyrie, where Thor always half expected a mass of muscle and feathers to suddenly sweep him off his feet.  A frost giant, as Loki claimed to be, did not have wings.

(Of course, the idea of  _ angel _ never crossed Thor’s mind.  That was ridiculous.  Angels were holy, terrifying warriors, and Loki was… Loki.  More likely, the god was the bastard child of a Valkyrie, or perhaps a demi-child of one of the Greeks.  Thanatos had wings, after all, so it was perfectly possible.  Wings weren’t an uncommon thing, and invisibility was easy for a god so versed in magic as Loki.)

When Loki stepped back, it was so Thrym could take a long look at his bride to be, so that the giant could gaze upon the lovely, feminine shape- if the definition of feminine was a skin tight dress over man muscles exploding from an abused, creaking corset. 

This seemed to be exactly his definition, and Thrym sighed in ecstasy.  “Ah, Freya, my love, I will make you so happy.  You will know nothing but pleasure in my company.”

Thor’s blood boiled at the thought of receiving pleasure from a giant, but before he could smash Thrym’s skull with his bare fists, Loki touched his forearm lightly.  He glanced over, through the veil, to see that she’d quirked one eyebrow, towards the other end of the room, where Thrym’s throne sat, a twisting chair of ice and stone.  There, beside it, on a pedestal like a great prize, was Mjolnir.

“My mistress is absolutely languishing at the thought of being separated from you any longer,” Loki said, looking back at Thrym.  “She wishes the wedding to commence at once.”

“Of course, of course!”  Thrym clapped his hands in the air.  “Servants!  Prepare the feast!  My lady, if you care to step this way, I have prepared a place of honor for you, so that my entire court may look upon your beautiful visage.”

Thor’s fist clenched, but at the lightest touch from Loki, he deigned to follow the giant across the grand hall towards the seat at the head of the table.

And what a table had been set up for the occasion- it stretched from one end of the room to the other, for the gentry, while a second table was set perpendicular across the dais, for the honored guests.  Loki had no seat- she was merely a handmaid at the moment, after all- but she hovered, refusing to leave Thor’s side.  Thrym pulled out the chair for the bride he believed to be Freya.

It was sickening, the giant moving the chair with such formality, like Thor was some dainty maiden to be wooed.  But the hammer was so close that Thor could sense the metal humming, so he steeled himself and sat in the chair, holding his breath against the tightness of the corset. 

Really, he could barely breathe standing up- sitting down was even worse, especially as the giant gentry filed into their seats and Thrym stood up to speak.  There was no slouching, in this ridiculous getup.  If he sat stock straight, like there was a pole sewn to his spine, he could catch half a breath, but by the time he’d found a single iota of comfort, he’d missed Thrym’s opening speech, and slaves were bringing out the food for the feast.

“We just need to wait for an opening,” Loki murmured in Thor’s ear.  Her breath was warm, and smelled sweet like honey- and then he glanced back and found that she was already chewing on some baked good she’d swiped from a tray. 

“Give me that,” he grumbled, voice low enough so nobody would hear the timbre of a man, and swiped the fruit and honey pastry from Loki’s hands.  It took a bit of finagling to get it under the veil without making it sticky, but he managed.  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered between bites, keeping an eye on Thrym as he gesticulated to the crowd.  “Let’s just grab the hammer and go.”

“It’s all the way across the room.”  Loki waved over a servant with another tray of pastries, and rather than daintily taking one, she grabbed the whole tray.  When the servant protested, Loki pouted.  Despite spending most of her time as a man, she knew her way around a woman’s body.  She knew exactly which muscles to tense and which leg to put her weight on to make herself look as effeminate as possible, like a creature to be kissed and tossed into bed rather than a trickster god who could be as cruel and capricious as the ocean. 

The poor servant, naught more than a simple man, didn’t stand a chance.  He left the silver tray, hastening off the dais to somewhere less public, where nobody would see how affected he truly was by this strange, seductive handmaid. 

“So what’s your plan?” Thor asked, taking another pastry from the platter that Loki had set down in front of them.  “Sit here and actually go through the wedding?”

“Th’ doo’way ‘oo ‘is bed’oom is pas’-” Loki swallowed the bite of stolen desert- “past the hammer.  When he leads you to the bedroom, grab the hammer and smash him.”

“We have to wait for this entire ceremony?” Thor’s voice was so low it was more a growl in his chest than actual speech.  “That’s so-”

He had to shut up the moment that Thrym abandoned the floor to come sit beside him, lest Thrym realize it wasn’t truly Freya under the veil.  Though, Thrym must have never actually seen Freya before, if he assumed she was actually this broad shouldered.

“I am sorry, my love,” Thrym said as he sat beside her, reaching around to rest his hand on Thor’s lower back.  “We must suffer through these ghastly formalities for our wedding to be official.”

Now the best man had taken the floor, giving a rousing speech about Thrym’s heroism.  Thor grabbed another pastry and ignored how low on his back Thrym’s hand was.  At least the giants were good cooks.  The pastries were far more interesting than Thrym’s best man’s boring story about fighting some snow demon, and it didn’t take long before Loki had stolen a second tray.  The flaky puffs were covered all over with butter and delicate wild strawberries.  Thor wasn’t as fond of the sweet as Loki, but these were definitely an art.  He made a mental note to find the cook and spare his life when he killed everybody here.

Thrym’s hand wandered lower, and Thor sat stock straight, wide eyed under the veil.  The giant’s hand was resting on his ass, and he couldn’t push it away, not without revealing the ruse, but now the best man was really into the story, throwing punches at the air to demonstrate how the fight had gone. 

And Thrym was enjoying himself immensely, it seemed.  He had his hand on a perfect butt while his praises were being sung to an audience.

Thor reached out to grab another pastry to distract himself, only to find that the tray was empty.  Somehow, he and Loki had gone through two, and Thrym had noticed the movement, dropping his hand.  “My lady,” he murmured.  “Your appetite is incredible.  How is it that you can eat such a massive quantity-”

“Seriously?”  Loki’s voice was loud and obnoxious, interrupting the best man’s story.  “Did you  _ seriously _ just ask a lady how much she ate?  How dare you!  My mistress has been starving herself in her excitement for this wedding, not that it’s any of your business, and she needs sustenance!  Would you have her waste away?”

Thrym’s eyes were wide, and Thor realized the eyes of everybody in the court were on their table, on the irate handmaiden. “I meant no disrespect-” Thrym began, but Loki was on a roll now, gesturing threateningly with a fork.

“I bet you’re one of those men who believe a woman should eat daintily and be thin as a waif, and what I say to that is-”

Under the table, where nobody would see, Thor reached over and touched Loki’s leg.  She glanced at him, fork still raised, gold eyes filled with righteous fury on Thor’s behalf.  She couldn’t see his expression under his veil, but he tilted his head slightly. They had a plan.  And if Loki threw it away, he would kill the trickster once and for all, and then rip off the goddam corset he’d been forced to wear. 

“I swear, my love, that I meant no offense.”  Thrym waved over a servant.  “Bring my love as much as she desires.”

The servant nodded and scurried off back to the kitchen.  Loki was pouting now, but she brightened when another tray of pastries was brought out.  Which wasn’t fair, in Thor’s opinion.  Why was he being accused of eating all the hors d'oeuvres when Loki was clearly the one who was licking her fingers? 

“Forgive me, love,” Thrym said at Thor’s silence.  “It is just that I have lost control of my tongue in my love for you.  Ever since the inception of our engagement, my loins have burned for you.”

The crowd sighed like that was the most lovely thing they had ever heard, and Thor’s stomach clenched.  It was disgusting, this giant,  _ lusting _ over him like this.  Thrym was disgusting, and Thor had just allowed him to-

_ Gods!  _ And now the giant was leaning in for a swift, chaste kiss through the veil, and Thor forgot that he had just calmed Loki, because this was  _ unacceptable _ .  He shuddered when Thrym’s lips touched his cheek, fingers clenching the table so hard that the wood splintered under his nails, and yet he could not move, could not blow their cover. 

And then Thrym brushed Thor’s veil to the side slightly, stealing a glimpse of his bride, but all he saw were eyes crackling with repressed lightning before he practically threw the veil down.  “My lady… your face…”

“You’re insulting her face now?”  And Loki threw herself forward, a little ball of righteous anger and golden eyes and perfect cleavage.  “My mistress has not slept in a week for her anticipation!  You insult her?!  You’re just a dick!  You’re a whole bag of dicks!  You should be tormented for your insolence, you slimy scumbag coward!” 

And her roll of insults went on as Thrym leaned back wide eyed.  He had never been accosted by a handmaiden before.  What was he to do?

And as she screamed and shook the fork in Thrym’s face, Thor felt a brush of something soft and warm against his face, delicate as though a living ghost had touched him, and the touch was all sunshine and laughter, and it was purely Loki, though she never once took her eyes off Thrym. 

And when Thor paused to puzzle over the touch he’d felt, trying to understand it when he was distracted by Loki’s barrage of increasingly creative insults (“… Odin pulled you from the noxious asshole of the corpse of Ymir… Hela will torture you by chopping off your testicles and feeding them to you on top of a healthy salad… You breed with the mouth of a goat…) the touch came again.  This time it was harder, and Thor definitely felt feathers as it forcibly pushed his head to look at his hammer. 

He filed the idea of invisible wings away for later and, while everybody was distracted by Loki’s now-hysterical shrieking, he leapt up from the chair, diving for the hammer on the other side of the stage.  But he was thrown off by the corset, and he tripped on the skirt, and suddenly he was on the floor, the veil cast aside completely. 

Loki trailed off, silent, and Thor lay there for a second, trying to remember what breathing was like before whalebone constricted his lungs.

“It is Thor!” somebody wailed, and then the room was bristling with weapons. 

Thrym wailed at the betrayal, but was cut off when Loki leapt atop the table and kicked him in the teeth, giving Thor enough time to scramble for the hammer. 

As soon as his hand closed about Mjolnir’s handle, the heavens rumbled.

Thor stood on the dais, Mjolnir held towards the sky triumphantly, and a great blast of cold stormy wind blew out the windows, scattering glass like diamonds and whipping the skirt of his wedding dress around his body.  Thor was bride only to the storm itself, and his bridegroom would not betray him.  A spear of lightning blasted through the roof, scattering stone to vaporize the monster who had dared to call Thor his love.

And the lightning cast shadows across the wall, and it seemed to Thor, for a moment, that Loki’s shadow was warped, wrong, stretched into the image of a six-winged creature. 

And then it was gone, and while Thrym’s charred corpse smoked on the dais, Thor leaped forward, skirts trailing behind him, and smashed Mjolnir into the skull of the closest giant, and then another.  And bone shattered before him, and blood splattered across the stones, and he heard Loki’s laugh as she joined the fray, her twin knives flashing as they twirled in her hands, drinking up the blood of the enemy.

The fight was over too fast to even be considered a skirmish, and then they were sitting side by side on a table, surveying the corpses and pooling blood.  Loki bit into another pastry, pleased.  “That was fun.  Also, you didn’t kill the chef, did you?”

Thor shook his head sadly.  “Sorry. That one was the chef.”  He pointed up the corpse that was draped over the chandelier.  Blood was dripping down from his mouth. 

“How’d he get up there?” Loki pursed her lips as she tried to figure out the physics of what had happened in the quick fight. 

“Beats me.”  Thor looked over at Loki then, frowning.  She was nothing special.  Just a frost giant, or some bastard demigod.  It was her cleverness that had caused Odin to take her in, to declare her to be one of the Asgardians.  But she was nothing eldritch or mysterious. 

Except, the shadow had not been any form known on Earth, and the thought of it sent a shiver down Thor’s spine.

“What’s wrong?” Loki was mid-bite, but she moved the pastry away from her mouth for a moment to look over at Thor.  “You good?”

Those gold eyes- they were so familiar, and yet what did they hide?  Thor had seen the sadness, sometimes, even when Loki tried to hide it.  The smaller god had history beyond that of Asgard, and Thor had no idea what it was.  That shadow- he needed to call Loki out.  He needed to destroy the threat to Asgard.

“Thor?” Loki lowered the pastry, tilting her head slightly.  “What’s wrong?  Were you injured?”  And without waiting for the answer, she set the pastry aside and knelt beside him, moving her hands over his torso, searching for an injury with such care and such urgency that the worries vanished from Thor’s mind.

Maybe Loki was secretly some eldritch being, but she was on their side.  And she was his friend.

“I’m fine,” he said with a smile, and when she looked at him doubtfully, he leaned in to kiss her, resting his hands on her waist. 

He felt Loki’s lips smile under his, and then her legs were wrapped around his hips as she moved to his lap.  She broke the kiss then, straddling him.  “You look so hot in that dress.  Especially with all the blood on it.”

Thor growled at her and twisted, trying to reach the laces in the back, but Loki grabbed his arms and pulled them back forward to rest on her waist.  “You have to wear it back to Asgard, at least.  I didn’t pack a spare change of clothes for you.”  She paused, watching his grimace turn into a look of panic.  “What are you gonna do about it, Mistress?  I’m a  _ bad  _ handmaiden-”

At that horrible line, he stood, unceremoniously dumping Loki off his lap, and started marching back towards the door so he could go back to Asgard and change.  Loki laughed and hopped up, falling into step beside him, and everything was normal.  


End file.
